


waking up (to ash and dust)

by whisperedwords



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Language, Pre-Slash, Sam has Nightmares, it's a good thing Steve is there, mild PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-02
Updated: 2014-05-02
Packaged: 2018-01-21 16:48:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1557302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whisperedwords/pseuds/whisperedwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I know you’re putting that wall up, Sam. You don’t think I did the same thing?"</p><p>"You’re Captain America, though. You’ve got to keep that brooding nature so the ladies have something to swoon over." He teases weakly, and Steve knocks him in the shoulder gently with his own.</p><p>"I see right through that act, Wilson."</p>
            </blockquote>





	waking up (to ash and dust)

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'd. sam needs to be taken care of, too, you know. (lucky for him, steve knows how to do that.) title is from the imagine dragons hit 'radioactive'.

Of course Sam Wilson still has nightmares. Of course he wakes up gasping for air some nights, clutching at his sheets and frantically searching out Riley’s body in the darkness of his room before remembering that  _no_ , he’s home now. Riley’s long gone, and all he has left is a set of dogtags and a few catchphrases that were so overused Sam never thought he’d want to hear them again. Some nights, the disorientation is so bad that he gets sick from the return to reality. But it fades, and rather than go back to sleep, he stays up to write VA session plans for the next day. (If he falls asleep in one of the lounge areas, well, no one bothers him about it. They know that feeling all too well.)

But no one has ever really seen that side of him before. No one, that is, before Steve Rogers, who moves into his tiny Baltimore apartment that’s got a spare bedroom and almost enough space to fit both of them at the same time. (“Are you sure about this, Sam? Natasha said she could hook me up with one of her safe houses around here—” “Steve. It’s cool. A little company might do me some good anyway.”) Since getting on board with the winter soldier crazy train, Sam has found that their mission keeps his dreams in the present, and not the spiraling scene on that hot desert night. He likes being this busy—likes running with Steve, likes spending time with them all on Wednesday nights when they go out for a few drinks. This new life, running from S.H.I.E.L.D. and simultaneously trying to salvage the wreckage, is exciting. It’s something Sam didn’t realize he needed until he didn’t have it.

They had been living in peace for about three and a half weeks when the nightmares start up again. It’s always the same—they’re flying along, Riley trying to show off for Sam and vice versa. “You’re a jackass,” Sam laughs, leaning upwards and letting his wings catch the light breeze. “You’re jealous you can’t do this,” Is all that Riley replies with, turning around and trying to fly backwards. His eyes glint in the moonlight, and  _god_ , if Sam didn’t love him in that moment—but then everything shatters, and the beeping of targeted missiles fills his ears, and in the second it takes for him to shout a warning at his best friend, there’s a massive explosion in front of his eyes. He screams several misguided directions hoarsely, trying to remember the maneuver that gets them out of the flight packs quickly, but the smoke is plummeting quickly, spinning to the ground. That’s Riley. Oh god, that’s  _Riley._

It’s then that Sam’s eyes fly open. He takes in a shuddering gasp of breath, the world still spinning a little in his vision. At that moment, his bedroom door swings open, and Steve bursts in, eyes wide in fear. “Sam?” Cautiously, he pads over to the bed, where Sam is now sitting upright, his head in his hands. The mattress creaks a little underneath the added weight, but Sam doesn’t care.

"Sorry I woke you up, man." He says softly, voice cracked around the edges. Steve shakes his head.

"I wasn’t really sleeping, anyway." He replies. There’s a pause, where Sam tries to ground himself to the present and Steve grasps for words. "Those happen to me, too, you know. After all this time, I still can’t stop replaying that ride." Another pause; this time, Sam straightens up and forces the tears and the sickness back behind this wall he’s built for show.

"Yeah." Then— "You don’t have to stay in here, y’know. I’m fine." Steve cocks his head to the side with a raised eyebrow, and Sam can practically guess what he’s going to say next.

"You don’t sound fine." Steve replies, word-for-word what Sam predicted. He lets out a strangled sigh. "I know you’re putting that wall up, Sam. You don’t think I did the same thing?"

"You’re Captain America, though. You’ve got to keep that brooding nature so the ladies have something to swoon over." He teases weakly, and Steve knocks him in the shoulder gently with his own.

"I see right through that act, Wilson." He doesn’t continue. They sit in silence for a moment, and then Steve grabs his arms gently. Sam looks at him, startled. In one smooth movement, he’s being swept into a hug that’s warmer than the blanket he had been sleeping with. Almost completely inaudibly, Steve murmurs an apology right by his ear. Sam melts into the embrace, then, burying his face in Steve’s shoulder and clinging to the fabric of his sleepshirt. A hand cups the back of his head gently. Sam feels himself shaking despite the dream having passed.

"I’m sorry," He manages, the words vibrating against Steve’s skin. "I’m sorry." He feels the arms around him tighten, the warmth of the other man’s skin radiating into Sam’s clothes. He feels more words on his tongue, threatening to spill out— _thank you_ ,  _you don’t need to do this_ ,  _I’m fine, really_ —but they’re swallowed when Steve’s head drops a little against his shoulder.

"I gotcha." He says.

After a few more moments, they pull apart, and Sam smiles softly. He wants to voice the thanks again, but holds back. Steve Rogers won’t accept a thank you, anyway. Not now, when his whole world is practically falling apart around him. He gets up from the bed and heads to the door and back to the guest room when Sam indulges.

"You know—" He begins, but then cuts himself off.  _No way_. Steve turns, though, a curious look flitting across his face.

"What?"

"You don’t have to—I mean, if it’s not weird for you…I sleep better when I’m not alone." He shakes his head. "Nah, nevermind, that came out  _really_  wrong. Go to bed, Cap, I’ll see you in the morning.”

Steve is quiet for a moment, and Sam feels his stomach knot up. “You too?” He finally murmurs. “I thought I was the only one.” Without another word, he walks around to the other side of the bed and climbs in. Almost immediately, Sam feels the anxiety of sleep dissipate. He lies down, the curve of the mattress with both of their bodies something unfamiliar but pleasant to him. He feels the body heat coming from his partner and exhales slowly. Steve is practically spooning him, he’s pressed so close, but Sam can’t bring himself to complain.

He falls asleep once more, Steve curled around him, and his dreams are free of disaster.


End file.
